


Of Politics and Love

by arihime



Series: Chrobin Week 2015 [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-05 15:22:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5380136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arihime/pseuds/arihime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fact that the Princess of Plegia is a political hostage in Ylisse doesn’t keep Chrom from falling in love with her. It also doesn’t keep him from suggesting something very foolish to his father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Politics and Love

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt "Alternate Universe." This is part of a larger AU I have, which hopefully I will someday write.

Chrom’s father calls him into his study on the same day the Plegian reparations arrive for that month. They are a late, and come with a long letter of condolences from King Narcissus. Father hands it to Chrom the minute he enters the study.

“What do you make of this?”

Chrom scans the letter. “The internal problems in Plegia have gotten worse, and are interfering in their dealings with Ylisse.” He says, handing the letter back. The delay, according to the Plegian King, had been due to a minor demonstration of citizens that had blocked the road. “It seems sincere enough, and the total amount is there. I doubt an issue like this will spill over into Ylisse, so you shouldn’t have to worry.”

Father grunts in acknowledgment, and says, “Sit down, Chrom.” He motions to the table. There are other letters spread across it, more from Plegia, and even some from Regna Ferox and Valm. This is a politics lessons, then, and not a social call.

He’s not sure why he thought it would be. There have been less simple meetings with his father since the war ended. Not that there ever were many to begin with. . .

Chrom takes his seat, thinking that Emmeryn should be here instead of him. She is the heir, after all. Only their father’s preference puts Chrom above her, a fact that he has never been comfortable with. Emmeryn’s only fault is not being able to wield Falchion, and even then, his older sister doesn’t need a sword. Her weapons are her kindness and her understanding, which she wields as well as any blade.

Sadly, Father doesn’t see things that way.

He sits across from Chrom, back straight and posture impeccable. Even in this room, far away from the eyes of the common people, he still looks like a King, and one to be feared at that.

“Plegia’s king is smart. I’ll bet this little incident was a plan of his to try and get out of payment, as if we wouldn’t notice.”

“I’ll admit that King Narcissus is crafty—” Chrom himself witnessed that on the battlefield, back when the king was still a prince. “—but what would he stand to gain from a delay?”

“Defiance. Making us look weak.” Father says. “And here I thought taking his sister would curb that type of behavior.”

Chrom holds back a wince at the mention of Aislin. “I’m sure the incident wasn’t intentional. He wouldn’t risk the Princess’ safety over something so trivial.”

“Perhaps.” Father pulls another paper from the stack and hands it to Chrom. It’s a report from his spies in the Plegian court, detailing the activities of the young king. Apparently, the Plegian nobles have grown more vocal in their dislike of what the king is doing, or rather not doing. They think he’s too passive, not the strong king that they need in these times. There are even some whispers that they want to go to war again.

“He’s not as adept in court as he is on the battlefield, is he?” Father sneers.

“It doesn’t look like it.”

“Maybe we should get ahead of those nobles and start the war ourselves. Then we could get rid of the Plegian nuisance once and for all.”

“I don’t think us going to war with them is the answer.” Chrom says. Father starts to scowl at him, so he continues, “Keeping Plegia subservient to Ylisse is enough. The nobles making trouble in their court is fine for us because it means they can’t organize against us. We shouldn’t get involved. And if you want Plegia to fall, then let it be in a civil war, so we don’t have to sacrifice any of our people.”

“A civil war would probably lead to Mad Gangrel taking control. No, if Plegia is to fall, then Ylisse needs to be in control of it. The Boy King can be controlled; Gangrel cannot. If a civil war does take place, then we have to make sure the victor is someone under our power.”

Father sits back and rubs his chin in contemplation. “I suppose we could put the girl on the throne assuming her brother wins and then conveniently falls in battle. But then we would need some way to control her. She could turn on us the instant she goes back to Plegia.”

“I could marry her.”

The words come out before Chrom can think about what he’s saying, but once he’s spoken he realizes how right they sound, and how much he likes the idea of Aislin being his wife. “You know, to keep her loyal.”

Father bursts out laughing.

“That’s a good joke, boy.” He chuckles, slapping his knee. “As if I would let you sully our family line by marrying a Plegian, and let alone their Princess. Naga and Grima’s blood should not mix. Ours is holier than that filth. She doesn’t deserve to be in your presence, let alone to be your bride.” He stops laughing suddenly and squints at Chrom.

“It was a joke, wasn’t it, boy?”

Chrom nods hastily. “Yes, of course it was.”

Father scrutinizes him a bit more, and Chrom tries his best not to squirm. Finally, he leans back in his chair. “Look at the rest of those letters and tell me what you think. You may not be the heir, boy, but you at least seem to have a good head for politics. Much better than your sister, in any case.”

_Emmeryn would understand this better than I can,_ Chrom thinks. She could probably find a way to fix their problems with Plegia that wouldn’t end in war and lost lives. Chrom doesn’t have his sister’s skill in diplomacy; all he’s suited for is battle. 

He picks up the nearest letter—one from Khan Basilio— and starts reading.

The foreign politics lessons goes on into the night, and it’s only when the servants come in to turn on the oil lamps that Chrom is dismissed. He bow to his father and leaves, praying that his earlier comment won’t cause any repercussions for Aislin. More than that, he needs to warn her about his father’s plan. 

He doesn’t see her the next morning, or the next day at all. It’s odd. She usually takes breakfast with Emmeryn and Lissa, but she isn’t there when Chrom comes in. Neither of his sisters know where she is, either.

It doesn’t take long for Chrom to realize that something is wrong. The most he sees of Aislin in the next few days is a flash of blonde hair and purple fabric. He tries to seek her out, but every time he gets close, she changes directions and is gone before he can say anything. What’s worse is the look on her face when they do cross paths, sadness, annoyance, and anger all wrapped into one.

Aislin is avoiding him, and Chrom doesn’t know why. 

(That’s a lie. In the depth of his gut, he has his suspicions.)

Chrom spends a week trying to find her, and by that point he’s started to feel her absence keenly. He doesn’t know when he began needing Aislin around him, but her avoidance makes him realize just how much he misses seeing her, and misses the rare smiles she gives him. He tries to bribe her maid in order to figure out where she might be, but Melly refuses to take his money, and seems equally as reluctant as her mistress to be near him.

“Can you at least give me a reason?” Chrom presses.

Melly shakes her head. “I can’t say, milord. Truly, I don’t know why milady is avoiding you. But if she is, there must be a good reason for it.”

“I need to talk to her. Can you tell me where she is?” Melly looks ready to refuse, and he adds, “Please?”

“All I can say is that she’s been spending a lot of time in the library lately, milord.”

The library. Chrom wants to laugh. If there was a room in the palace he hadn’t thought to look, that would have been it. Aislin had never been one for books, not even the novels Sumia and Cordelia favor. Her brother the King is the reader of the two.

Maybe that’s why she went to the library, to feel closer to her brother, even though miles and borders and politics separate them. And the will of the Exalt of Ylisse.

He doesn’t see Aislin immediately when he goes to the library. The room is huge, with tall stacks that hide everything from view. He roams through it, looking down the long rows until he finds her.

For a moment, he lets herself admire her. She has a book open in front of her, chin propped on her hands as she flip through it idly. The row she’s sitting in is near a window, and the noon light brings out the gold in her hair. She looks lovely like this, but tired and weighed down at the same time.

Chrom takes a step forward.

Aislin’s head comes up at the sound, mouth dropping open when she sees him. He half expects her to run away immediately, but instead she snaps her book shut, stands, and curtsies to him. 

“If you would excuse me, Your Highness.” She says, then turns and walks down the other side of the stacks.

Chrom doesn’t know what hurts worse, her avoidance or her use of his title. He thought they were passed that stage. No one uses that title unless it’s for very formal events. To hear her say it now. . .

“Aislin, wait!”

He follow her, chasing her down the stack. She’s not running initially, but she picks up her pace after a quick look behind her, weaving through the stacks as she does so. It’s absurd, and for a moment he contemplates just letting her run away. Then he thinks about another week of not seeing Aislin at all, and he runs faster.

He catches her in the end, of course he does, because even with her weaving, he is faster. His hand shoots out and grabs her arm, turning her around to face him.

“Aislin what—”

She tenses under his hand, eyes fearful, and Chrom drops her arm as if she’d burned him. He never wants to see that look in Aislin’s eyes directed at him.

“Forgive me.”

Aislin doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t run, either. She simply stares at him wearily, clutching the book to her chest like a shield.

“What do you want, Your Highness?” She says at length.

Chrom winces. “You know you don’t have to call me that.” He says. “And you’ve been avoiding me. I want to know why.”

She frowns. “You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“That your father very strictly forbade me from interacting with you, or your siblings, Your Highness. He said he didn’t want me getting too close.” Judging by her tone, his father said several other things, but she omits those. “So if that was all. . . ?”

“I’m sorry.” Chrom says. “I didn’t mean for my actions to reflect back on you.” He ducks his head and clenches his fist. He shouldn’t have said anything to his father at all.

Aislin takes a step toward him cautiously, expression confused. “What did you do?” She asks.

Chrom starts to shake his head, too embarrassed to repeat the words in front of her, but Aislin presses, “If this is because of something you did, then what did you do?”

“I suggested to my father that I could marry you.”

“What? Why would you suggest that?” 

“To control you and keep you loyal to Ylisse.”

She flinches, betrayal and hurt flickering across her face. Too late Chrom realizes what did that sounded like.

“No, wait, I didn’t mean—”

He reaches forward, and Aislin take a step back in turn.

“Then tell me what you did mean, Your Highness. Because I thought you—I—”

“That was the reason I gave my father, but the real reason I suggested it was because I want to protect you. If things go bad with Plegia, you would be safe from any backlash here, if you were married to me. And you would be safe from my father as well.” He stops, and give her a brittle smile. “But honestly, I like the idea of being married to you. It sounds right. And not just because you’re a princess and I’m a prince. After this week, I’ve realized I can’t stand the thought of being apart from you.”

“How is being married to you supposed to protect me?” Aislin asks, completely ignoring his other point. He knows she heard it though, because there’s a light blush on her cheeks. “If anything, that would put me under your father’s thumb even more.”

“No it wouldn’t. I wouldn’t allow it.”

“And you think you have that kind of power against the Exalt of Ylisse?”

“To protect my wife, yes I would.” He meets her eye when he says this, daring her to look away. Aislin meets his gaze steady, every inch the princess she was born to be.

Chrom should be more affected by this. He is essentially proposing, in what are possibly the most unromantic terms known to man. But the more he speaks, the better he feels about it. He wants protect Aislin no matter what, but it would be more, if she were his wife. Then there would be no more avoiding him, and nothing his father could do to tear them apart. 

Without thinking, he take her hand, running his fingers over her knuckles. They are bare now, but he can almost imagine a ring on them, and the Mark of the Exalt on her finger.

“Chrom. . .” Aislin murmurs, staring at their hands.

Hearing his name on her lips, after so much time without, sends a jolt through Chrom.

“I didn’t mean to get you in trouble. That was the furthest thing from my mind at the time. I see now that it was a bad idea, but you have to believe that my feelings are sincere. I would never wish to control you. I only want to see you safe and happy.”

“It still wasn’t a good idea.” Aislin chides quietly.

Chrom chuckles. “I know. But you can’t fault me for trying to keep you safe. Because I—”

Her eye go wide. “Don’t.” She says, but Chrom ignores her.

“Aislin, I lo—”

“ _Don’t say it!_ ” Aislin shrieks, yanking her hand out of his. Her words rebound among the stacks, shattering the quiet of the moment. “Don’t say it! What do you think will come of you saying that?”

She backs up, wrapping her arms around herself. Chrom follows, reaching a hand out to her.

“Aislin—”

“No! Don’t you understand the situation we’re in? I’m a hostage, Our countries are likely to go to war again, and I’m likely to die to make that happen.”

“You aren’t going to die—” Chrom starts to say, but Aislin barrels right through him. Her voice is taking on an edge of hysteria, though her eyes are clear, pinning him in place like two violet lances.

“Don’t be naive! We both know that’s where everything is headed, and yet you think that—that saying that will make it better? Your father doesn’t even like the idea of me being near you. You say you want to protect me, but what do you think he’ll do when he finds out about your feelings?”

“I’m not going to let him hurt you.” Chrom vows.

Aislin scoffs. “As if you have any say in the matter. It’ll be better for both our sakes if you just forgot about those feelings.”

“I can’t just toss them aside that easily.”

“You have to, Your Highness.”

“Stop calling me that!” Chrom snaps. “Not even the servants call me that. I can’t stand hearing it from your mouth!”

“You’d better get used to it, Your Highness.” Aislin sneers. She turns on her heels and stalks away from him.

Chrom goes after her, grabbing her hand once again. “Aislin, you can’t just walk away. You know how I feel, and I know you feel the same.”

“It doesn’t matter if I do.” She says, voice suddenly thick with tears that Chrom can’t see. “Nothing I want matters. But if you truly want to protect me, Your Highness, then let me go.”

The truth of her words hit him all at once, and he staggers back as if struck. Her hands slips from his. 

Aislin lifts her skirts and walks away from him, out of the library and out of his life. The last thing Chrom sees of her is her back.

Father calls Chrom into his study the next day. He expects it to be another lesson in foreign politics, so his surprised to find that Father isn’t alone when he enters. Sumia is there, along with her parents. She gives Chrom a smile when he enters, but it’s a small, strained thing. She’s out of armor, dressed nicer than Chrom has ever seen her before, except at balls. Her parents look equally as nice.

“Ah, there you are, Chrom! Come in and take a seat.” Father says, waving Chrom inside. He has a grin on his face, and Chrom is immediately on guard. That grin always means trouble.

“What’s going on?”

“I was just having a chat with the Lord and Lady here about your future.” Father says. He motions to the chair next to Sumia, and Chrom takes his seat slowly, still confused. At the same time, dread rises within him as his mind works out the scene.

“My future, Father?”

“Well, yours and Sumia’s. You were so adamant talking about marriage before, I thought it was finally time I picked a wife for you.”

“We’re very honored by your choice, Your Grace.” Sumia’s father says.

“Our daughter will be a great addition to the royal family.” Her mother adds.

Sumia herself says nothing, though she gives Chrom an apologetic look. Her hands are in her lap, clutched in the fabric of her dress. She looks as helpless as Chrom feels. 

“How about it, Chrom? You were always fond of Sumia, weren’t you? And I’m sure she’ll make a fine wife.”

_No._ Chrom wants to say. _I don’t want to marry her. I’m not in love with her._ It’s not fair to him, and it’s especially not fair to Sumia. This is his punishment for being so foolish before; it shouldn’t involve anyone else. His only consolation is that it’s directed at him, and not towards Aislin.

But if he refuses. . .

“It’s fine.” Chrom says through numb lips.

Sumia looks at him in surprise, while his father’s grin widens.

“Wonderful! We’ll announce the engagement next week!”


End file.
